Page 76 of Running to You

There was a shop to the right that seemed to carry everything from souvenir mugs to ski parkas. And plenty of souvenirs that sported the name of this place on it.

She and Sam had spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out what website the hidden password would open up to them—to no avail. She’d remembered to call her former employer at the investment firm where she used to work, but he’d been out of the office. The assistant, a woman whose voice Eliza didn’t recognize, promised to have him call her back. When he did, she might get the name of the couple she’d moved to Utah with.

It was just past one o’clock, and she was ready for lunch. Maybe, if she quit trying to remember what the password went to, the answer would come to her. She found it worked like that sometimes—just letting the information simmer, not forcing it.

The foyer had old wood floors worn from years of wear, pale green walls, and dark wood trim. Straight ahead, a stairway led upstairs, guarded by a simple chain with a sign hanging from it, telling her the upstairs dining room was closed. The restaurant was to the left, where a host stood behind a wooden stand.

“Four for lunch,” Sam said behind her.

The host grabbed four menus. “Follow me.”

There was no protective hand on her back today as Eliza preceded Sam across the dining room. In fact, he’d been very careful not to touch her since their discussion earlier.

She was being very careful not to care. It wasn’t working very well.

They were seated near rear windows that looked out over a patio—outdoor dining, though it was too cold for that today. But the view—a grassy field in the foreground, mountains in the background—would be a beautiful backdrop for a romantic meal.

Which this definitely wasn’t.

They’d barely glanced at the menus when heavy footsteps drew her attention. Sure enough, Grant was crossing the half-empty restaurant toward them. He looked older, of course, but also happier than the last time she’d seen him. Like Sam, Grant had dark hair and eyes. But, as muscular as Sam was, Grant was bigger. Not just taller but broader with a barrel chest and arms thicker than her calves.

Sam stood and stuck out his hand to his brother, who ignored it and wrapped him in a back-slapping hug before stepping back. “Glad to see you in one piece.” Grant turned to Eliza and smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too. I hear you tied the knot.”

He grinned, the look almost boyish.

The man behind him was even bigger than Grant, at least six-four and built like a tractor-trailer. Light-brown hair and intense gray eyes. He greeted Sam—apparently, they’d met before—and then turned to her and stuck out his hand. “Jon Donley.”

“Eliza Pelletier. Thanks for doing this.”

His only answer was a quick nod.

The men sat at the round table, one on each side of her. They were all three so big that she felt like a little girl at a table full of grown-ups.

She’d sort of expected them to dive right into business, but they didn’t. They caught up with each other. Joked and teased, directing a lot of their comments to her. Jon told stories about Grant from the Army, and he reciprocated with his own tales, which had her laughing so hard tears streamed from her eyes. There were stories about Sam and Grant and the rest of the brothers from childhood, stories about Jon’s childhood and his favorite cousin, Grant’s wife, which made the tough guy’s expression soften. Jon shared a few stories about his own wife. She was a movie star so famous that even Eliza had heard of her, but Jon made her sound down-to-earth. Funny and kind.

“I’d like to meet her someday,” Eliza said.

Jon’s expression dimmed the slightest bit. “She’d like to meet you. Eventually.”

Eliza had the very strong impression Jon didn’t want her anywhere near his wife. Which, considering the danger she was in, made sense.

“We dropped her and Summer off at the Christmas store down the street before we got here,” Grant explained. “We’re happy to have an excuse to miss that.”

The group ate and talked and laughed as if all were right with the world. And nobody said a word about what was going on with Eliza. About her amnesia. About the fact that somebody had attacked her and Sam—and then Camilla.

It all felt so normal—like life ought to be. Safe and secure and relaxed. No undercurrent of tension. Nobody demanding anything. Nobody sending cruel jabs.

No angry guard in the corner, glaring at her. Daring her to try it.

The thought brought her up short. Try what? What did Gil think she was going to do?

She closed her eyes and tried to remember.

But for the first time that day, her head protested by throbbing.

Gentle fingers slid around her wrist, and she realized she was massaging her temples. She looked up to see Sam’s concerned expression.